Resurrection
I rescued animals when I was young. A dying sparrow, a lonely salamander, a rabid Chihuahua (my mom and I jumped on a chair and screamed when he had his first foam flying fit). Now, I find old furniture at the dump. I drag it home and give it life. While no one sees the beauty underneath the dirt and rust, I know neglect can be reversed with lots of love. I scrub and sand and paint and in the end, this piece of junk, its hope and dignity restored, is beautiful to me; because I took the time to see, to care, to roll my sleeves and pull it from the muck. Salvaged from death I watch it slowly come alive and sometimes think, “It could have been me: an old discarded table no one wanted, tossed in a heap, to rot with inattention.” But love has plucked me out and set me high, and sent me those who saw the beauty in my soul ~ who gently scrubbed away the grime so I could shine.
I guess I’ve always had a tendency toward hope. A fragile faith in that which doesn’t meet the eye. A soft spot for the underdog.
Juxtaposed between the harshness of reality and the possibility of flight, I closed my eyes and jumped, still trusting in the net I could not see. I fell and bled but was not shattered. Tenaciously I clung to my vision of a better world; a world where beauty isn’t judged by merit, and love’s a gift, not needing to be earned, and people take the time to honor your uniqueness.
I think the world will be a better place when life is always nurtured, and innocence respected, and all that is tender, delicate, infinite, rests safely in the warmth of life’s great wing.
LBM Easter, 1996
